Hiding
“I am the judge and jury. The harshest sceptic, condemner. The executioner with the swiftest blade…”
What creative does not know the tale? The squandering of talents crying to break
Lindsey Hon Rubendall
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Time cares not what you did or said
Nor the countless hours you wasted
chasing thoughts in your head
She flows and presses on all the same
Doesn’t even pause to know your name
Yet you try to tame her,
plead with her for just “one more minute”
and curse her when she refuses to hear
Like a woman in her purest form
time is beauty we cannot transform
Treat her well and value what you have
then you need not worry nor feel sad
When the hour tolls and the hourglass runs out
it was the time you spent that you think about
The clock is always ticking ominously faster than we want it to.
My obsession about time and how I was spending it came sometime during my university studies. Between work and university I felt like I barely had time to breathe, eat or sleep let alone do anything else. That experience taught me a dire lesson: When you cease to have time every single minute feels precious and you think twice about how you are spending it.
For me, my analysis of time wasn’t only about stress and university but about how I was living my life, who and what I gave my time to with the ultimate question – is it in this that I want to invest my precious minutes?
I think like many in my generation, I feel like the clock is running out. There are so many trials facing us all right now that go beyond anything we have ever seen before. Will I get to be old like the generations before me? Will I have the luxury to?
I have seen so many during my time on this Earth that seem to take each passing moment completely for granted, only giving how they spend their time and their life essence a second thought when they begin to feel like it is running out.
Make sure you value each and every second.
“I am the judge and jury. The harshest sceptic, condemner. The executioner with the swiftest blade…”
What creative does not know the tale? The squandering of talents crying to break
“If the heart could speak…would it shed tears of mourning for the scarring of the soul? Dragging steal across bone, carving in “I’m not enough…”
“What flows into song cannot be unsung, the motion of the world long moved undone…” Within each note is a chain to something far beyond ourselves, calling us home.
Berlin Artist, Artist and Poet, American Artist, American Poet, Nature Artist, Poems of Love, Berlin Poet, Spoken Word Artist, Best Poetry, Musical Artist